


Flétrir

by vaduva



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Age Difference, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Hospitals, Little bit of a daddy kink, M/M, Older John, Teenlock, Top John, Young Sherlock, kind of, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:30:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4722761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaduva/pseuds/vaduva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John notices a dark-haired, chain-smoking teenager hanging around the hospital a lot suddenly, and curious, he attempts to get to know the younger man, only to be met with mostly passive and aloof demeanor, and yet he ends up becoming increasingly fascinated and frustrated and suddenly very, very infatuated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Searching For Something That I Can't Reach //

Most of John's weeks were a haze of caffeine fueled night shifts, working too much, sleeping too little, going to bed with a glass of rum, the backdrop of his life an understaffed hospital and a small flat. On a more coherent night last week he had first noticed a boy hanging around in the hospital courtyard, always with a cigarette. He didn't even look old enough to smoke. John thought it was odd because he worked the night shift and he never saw teenagers visiting in the middle of the night; in part due to the fact visiting hours stopped at nine P.M. And likely because of school.

This boy in particular though he started seeing almost every night, and there was once he passed him in the corridor as John got off the elevator and the dark-haired teenager was striding in his direction, tugging on a black coat. The smell of cigarette smoke stuck in the back of John's throat and he felt a bit off as he continued walking down the hall.

On a rather exhausting night the doctor made a quick break to grab a coffee from the machines to keep him focused, and when he approached he immediately recognized the tall, slender frame dressed well in black slacks, a tucked in white button-down with the stiff collar up, and a black blazer unbuttoned. This was the closest John had ever gotten the opportunity of being, and he studied the boy's pale skin and angular jawline.

He tried to make it not-so-obvious that he was watching as the younger man dug change out from his pocket, long fingers counting out the coins for the cost of a cafe latte. John noted the soft pack of cigarettes in the front pocket of his shirt. He also noted that he was a bit short on change, and as the boy searched his other pocket, John used his own money and stuck it in the slot.

“It's on me.” The doctor uttered, giving the teenager a small smile.

It was then the boy actually took notice of John, his eyes – a cold blue-grey – raked over the doctor, stopping momentarily on the name tag pinned to his lab coat. He then met Jon's gaze, impassive.

“Thank you.” he responded, his tone stiff.

“Don't worry about it,” John dismissed, as the dark-haired boy pressed a button and the machine hissed, pouring out a cream-colored coffee into the plastic cup.

“I've seen you around here a lot lately.” The doctor mused.

Silvery eyes flicked over to his direction briefly. “Yes. I've seen you as well. And?”

John shrugged, suddenly feeling a bit nervous as the sound of a velvety, deep voice fully sunk in. The boy had very prominent cheekbones, and his hair was black, tangled in curls. “I just normally don't see many teenagers hanging around all night. Don't you have school?”

Grabbing the coffee with pale fingers, the boy turned to him fully. “If I did, what would it concern you?” 

"I suppose it doesn't.” John conceded. “Do you have family in here?”

“That doesn't concern you either, doctor.” The boy slid past him, walking away down the corridor.

John opened his mouth to say something else, then paused, realizing he wasn't sure what to actually say. He instead watched the fleeting figure disappear.


	2. You pray it all away but it continues to grow //

When John got off his shift it was after eight in the morning, closer to nine really, and as he slid on his leather jacket in place of the lab one, and then proceeded down to the ground floor, walking past the large windows that looked out onto the courtyard, he paused. His eyes caught on the sight of ink-colored curls and a halo of smoke. Taking a step backwards, he turned and briskly walked over to the doors leading outside.

He slowed down as he approached the smoking figure who was leisurely sitting on the edge of a fountain. “Shouldn't you be in school?”

John didn't miss the slight eye roll as the boy tossed his cigarette over his shoulder and it landed in the water at his back. “Since you're so awfully concerned with my education you'll be glad to know that I've graduated.” he stood up in one lithe motion, standing almost three inches taller than John himself.

“Wait- how old are you?” John had thought he looked relatively young.

“Sixteen. I graduated over a year ago.”

“Well...that's impressive.” The doctor affirmed, biting the inside of his lip.

He merely got a low hum in response.

“I'm John.” he offered a hand to the sixteen year old standing in front of him. “John Watson.”

The boy glanced at his hand, then took it after a moment. His hand was cold against John's but his grip was firm. He looked John in the eye as they shook hands and John was a bit baffled to realize the other man was only sixteen. “Pleasure to meet you, I'm sure. If you'll excuse me though, Dr. Watson, I'm out of cigarettes.”

His hand slipped away, and the boy breezed past the doctor, headed to the doors.

“You didn't tell me your name.” John pointed out, turning to look back at the retreating figure.

“I realized.”

John watched him leave, and then looked forward at the vacant courtyard. Steeling himself on a deep inhale, he took the long way around the side of the hospital to the lot.

 

At quarter to four that evening when John was fast asleep beneath the covers, his cell started up from the stand beside the bed. As he came to and realized what the sound indicated he reached for it, even though he didn't want to, and answered in a gruff voice. The sigh that left him a few seconds later was almost inaudible as he was given the information that a surgeon had called in, Dr. Wilkins, and they needed John in early tonight, and probably over tomorrow morning so he could pick up the slack. Dr. Wilkins had a surgery scheduled in just a little over an hour that John now needed to perform in his place. John sure hoped Wilkins had a good reason for not coming in this evening, as everyone was already overworked at the hospital.

John pulled himself from bed after ending the short phone call, and took a minute to rinse his face in the bathroom with cold water and glance at the day old stubble growing in that he didn't have time to do anything about. He tugged on a pair of fitted dark jeans, and a forest green button-down shirt that he hastily fastened, tucking the dog tags that dangled loose around his neck into the shirt. After he slid on his shoes – a pair of tan wingtips – and grabbed his leather jacket and bag, he made his way out onto the streets where the clouds hung low and a drizzle came down in a lazy rhythm, he motioned for a cab coming down the street and when it stopped he quickly ducked in, giving the address to his work and letting his head collapse back onto the seat, head throbbing dully from lack of sleep and rushing about.

When he reached the hospital he changed into his lab coat, stashing his leather one in his locker with his wallet and flat keys. He fastened his wrist watch on, checking the time. Less than an hour until surgery prep, and he needed a quick coffee – or two. Striding to the nearest vending machines he fed the machine money and got a warm cup of black coffee, which he sipped stridently as he went to get a candy bar to force onto himself so he wouldn't be working on an empty stomach for the next couple hours until he had a chance to get an actual meal. Spending more change, he pressed C1 for a Coffee Crisp bar, and it cluttered down to the bottom where the doctor scooped it up from behind the swinging door. He finished his cup of coffee before he'd even unwrapped the candy, and as he worked off the wrappings he went to get more brewed caffeine.

Eating the sweet as he walked, he headed for the elevators up to the top floor where the private patient rooms were. Those who could afford it, as long as there was an open – or soon to be – room were set up in their own single bed rooms, with more space and admittedly better food and staff than the lower floors had. John primarily worked on the top floor, as he was the most qualified surgeon in the hospital and therefore given to the wealthier patients who wanted the best, but when needed he worked on the lower floors as well.

Taking a moment to finish his food, he tossed the wrappings and strode to room 413, greeting the nurse on shift and looking over the patient's chart, getting a debriefing on the situation at hand.

“Is she awake, do you know?” John questioned, still looking at the chart in his hands.

“I believe so, her son just went in.” The young woman nodded. Amy. Brown hair and brown eyes. John liked Amy; she was an attentive nurse and a very kind person.

“Ta,” John nodded, turning to the door.

He knocked twice, though the door was half open, and proceeded inside, glancing over the patient's name down on the chart. “Mrs. Holmes,” He glanced up, walking over the reflective linoleum floors. “I'm Dr. Watson,” He had on a sincere smile as he approached the woman leaning up on the pillows of her bed, dark hair somehow neat. However she wasn't alone, as Amy had mentioned a son, and John noticed after introducing himself, his stride faltering for a moment, along with his smile, as a pair of silvery iridescent eyes fastened on him from the couch. John's heart did an odd pulsate, tripping over itself as it pounded harder into his chest.

The boy had his knees tucked up to his chest, black curls hanging around the ivory angles of his face. He was staring directly at John, and the doctor regained his smile, though slightly bemused, and pulled his attention away, stopping by the edge of the bed. He offered a hand for her to shake and she clasped her weaker grip in his, noticeably glancing at his fingers for a wedding ring. The doctor's skilled, slim fingers were bare. “I'll be doing your surgery this evening.”

Instead of Mrs. Holmes who spoke, it was her son. “I thought Dr. Wilkins was doing it.”

John's gaze flicked over to that low, sulky voice. His hand slipped from Mrs. Holmes'. He went over and pulled out the chair from the corner, positioning it nearer to the bed, and sat down. “Mr. Wilkins called in. He has a family emergency.” John crossed an ankle over his leg, continuing to read the rest of the chart in his hands. “I assure you I'm more than qualified to perform the surgery.” John glanced up, first at Mrs. Holmes, then at her son. “I trust I'm in good hands.” Mrs. Holmes nodded to him.

“I'll be just glad to have it over and done with.”

“You'll be feeling back to yourself in a few days time, I'm sure.” John affirmed with a small smile. “I just need you to sign a consent form agreeing to let me perform the surgery and then we're going to go ahead and get you set up in the pre-op room. Alright?”

She nodded, and John stood up, bringing a pen out from his pocket. He handed the clipboard and pen to her, indicating where to sign. As he waited for her to sign he managed not to glance over at the couch. When she was done he took the papers back. “Okay. I'll see you in a few minutes.” he smiled, a reassuring hand on her shoulder briefly before he left the room.

Back in the hall, he grabbed his coffee where he left it at the nurse's station, letting her know everything was a go for the surgery, and he exhaled around the rim of his cup, taking a long drink of coffee. Leaving the chart, he took his half empty drink and strode down the hall. He had a minute to finish it before he needed to be in pre-op then he'd be getting into his scrubs while the anesthesia was administered.

“Dr. Watson,”

John glanced back over his shoulder, stopping almost to the elevators. “Oh,” he muttered, as the raven-haired boy strode up to him. “Did you have a question?”

“Something like that.” the teenager responded, coming to stop by John. His teeth dug into a full lower lip.

John glanced, noticing the first three buttons of the boy's white shirt were undone, and the view was a long, creamy throat. John felt himself swallow hard, bringing his gaze back up, though not before the younger had noticed where his attention had been. _Shit_. John cleared his throat a bit, pulse hammering again all the sudden. “Was there something I can help you with?”

“Yes. If you could do me a favor, I...”

Somehow John immediately knew what the boy was asking. Maybe because every time he'd seen him the kid had a cigarette haze around him, and because he just knew that smoking was not just a bad habit for him, but a nervous one. John began shaking his head. “I'm not buying you cigarettes.”

“You have time, you can get them from the shop right on the corner.”

“I'm getting ready to perform surgery, I don't have time for your fucking cigarettes. Just this morning you didn't want anything to do with me.”

"John,” the boy steadied with him a gaze smoldering like a blue flame.

“Since when are we on first name basis?” The doctor murmured, his neck feeling hot. Hearing his name come from that mouth was an experience in and of itself.

“We both know you're going to give in, so save us both the time.”

“What do I get in return?” John queried.

There was a small pause. “I'll buy you a coffee.” he uttered.

John smiled, and the boy almost looked surprised. “I'll meet you on the first floor in five minutes.”

 

Still in his lab coat, John came into the corner shop, veering to the counter to ask for two packs of Dunhill menthols, having noticed yesterday what kind the teenager smoked.

“There you go, doctor.” the cashier slid them over the counter after John had paid.

“Ta,” John muttered, taking the blue packs and leaving the store in a swift pace.

He walked back to the hospital building, coming in through the front doors. He spotted the waiting figure sitting in a chair, knees crossed and hands tapping anxiously on the arms of the seat. John approached him and as soon as he noticed he stood up, hand held out expectantly. John handed him the cigarettes, purposely making contact where he could. “That should last you three hours, yeah?”

“Thank you, John.”

“You're welcome. Now, I really need to get ready for surgery.” John bit the inside of his lip. “Are you-...are you gonna be okay by yourself?"

The boy's gaze locked onto John's. “I can take care of myself.”

“Okay, yeah, I just...I need to go.” John swallowed back his words, striding off toward the elevators. He felt anxious as he got in, waiting for the lift to move, and it wasn't because of the surgery he was going to perform. He felt a bit worried for Mrs. Holmes' son, sitting down there waiting and chain-smoking through a pack of cigarettes while John operated. The doors slid open. Pushing back his thoughts, John cleared his mind as he went to go get ready for the surgery.


	3. Jesus Christ That's a Pretty Face // The Kind You'd Find on Someone I Could Save

After washing up, John exchanged his work coat for his leather jacket and decided it was time for a proper meal before he got back to work. There was a coffee shop a little ways from the hospital he had in mind. The surgery had taken just under three hours and Mrs. Holmes was in post op, to be transferred back to her room in a couple hours. On a whim, he stopped by room 413 and tipped his head inside, finding a dark-haired figure sitting cross-legged on the back of the couch, using the window panes as support for his back, a book splayed out in his palm and his attention fixed on it. There was an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

The doctor cleared his throat, tapping on the semi-open door.

Without looking up the boy responded, “What?” his tone flat, impatient.

John licked his lips, oscillating in the doorway. What had he come to say? In honesty he merely came to check on the aloof teenager. He felt sort of.... _protective_ almost? As odd as it was to admit to himself. Even though the clearly intelligent boy was quite mature and collected for his age, he was still only sixteen, and seemingly living in the hospital room with his ill mother whom, John had realized, after he reviewed her medical status, was in a forty percentile survival rate even with the surgery.

“Hey,” John uttered, fingers digging into the pockets of his coat.

The boy's head jerked up, molten silver eyes locking onto him as he walked further into the room. “John,” his gaze flickered over the doctor, studying. “Is something wrong? Did something happen with the surgery?”

“No, no,” John waved a hand, quickly dismissing the boy's worry. “It went fine. She should be set back up in her room in a couple hours after the anesthesia wears off and her vitals are good.”

“Oh,” the teenager murmured, glancing down at the book in his hands. “Good.” he closed the book. “Good.”

John glanced over the book cover, blinking at the name and picture. “You're reading about cadavers?”

“Uh,” looking at the book, the younger man stuffed it between the couch cushions out of sight. He took the cigarette from his mouth. “It's an interesting subject. What happens to the dead after their...dead.” His pale fingers played with the cigarette, eyes on his hand.

“I suppose so.” John smiled a bit, watching the way those long fingers moved lithely. The boy glanced up, noticing how John was watching him. The doctor marveled at how long his eyelashes were, and how his eyes looked in the light; tinged green and watered down blue.

“Are you on a break?”

Distracted from the warmth prickling his skin, John nodded. Dazedly watching each small movement of the other, the way he seemed to hesitate, thinking of something, still twirling the cigarette between his fingers. John realized absentmindedly he was still smiling as he leaned against the edge of the bed, looking at the boy.

“Did you want to-...” the teenager started, cutting himself off as he seemed to waver. “Never mind.”

_Do you want to go out and get a coffee with me_? John thought to himself. _Did you want to come back to my place?_ John's mind ran over sentences, sifting through scenarios he'd like to say. _Do you want to go out to dinner?_ _Or would you prefer a morgue? Do you want to kiss me?_ He sucked in a breath at his last thought, pulling himself straight and feeling his heart pound. He was deeper than he thought. “I was going to get something to eat, do you want to join me? You still owe me a coffee.”

There was no hesitation.“Yes.”

John stifled the small surprise that lifted through him. He'd hoped that was what the teenager had been getting at, but he still doubted he'd actually agree. Was it inappropriate for him to be getting a coffee with a patient's son? Perhaps the act itself not, but the way John looked at him yes. The fact that his gaze kept lingering over the open view of a pale neck and admiring the slim waist beneath the white shirt was certainly weighed as less than appropriate.

“Great. I was just going to pop down to the coffee shop down the block. Is that alright?”

“Fine.” the boy stood up. He stuck the cigarette back in his mouth, ambling toward the door.

 

They walked the short way to the shop, a soft drizzle whispering down that made the curly-haired teenager have to cup a hand around his lighter when he went to flame up the cigarette in his mouth. John wondered how he wasn't cold in the chilly November evening. The sun had waned, and dusk settled over the city. John tried not to watch him the whole way, having to direct his gaze ahead more than once after it'd slid back to the tall figure beside him. Smoke got trapped in his lungs.

John opened the door to the cafe, waiting as the boy put out his cigarette and then glanced at John, gaze flitting from the man to the door, realizing the doctor was holding it for him. In here you ordered at the counter and they brought it to your table once it was prepared, so John angled to the counter, absent of a line. The place wasn't very crowded.

The Barista smiled at him in harmonious patron courtesy. “What can I get for you?”

The doctor gestured for the boy behind him to go first, and waited as he gave an exact order: extra large latte with a shot of espresso, a pump of Irish cream, extra foam, and cinnamon on top. John pursed his lips, trying to commit all that to memory.

“You don't want anything to eat?” John inquired when the boy waved him forward, falling back from the counter.

“I'm fine.” the teenager's long hands slid down to the button on his blazer, fastening it and smoothing the fabric.

Turning to the girl manning the customers, “Flat white. Also, can I get scrambled eggs on toast with tomato?”

She nodded. “Got it. Are you paying together or separately?”

“Together.” John dug into his pocket for his wallet, but a black credit card was handed across the counter and John followed the pallid hand up to look at the teenager.

“Eh, I wasn't serious about buying me a coffee.” John uttered, wallet in hand.

“It's fine.”

In his hesitance the girl had already ran the card through and John hadn't a choice but to comply. He stowed his wallet away.

“You bought me cigarettes. We're even.”

The doctor was too tired to argue about a trivial matter, so he conceded without further resistance. They settled at a table near the windows.

“Well, thanks for paying.” John said.

“As I said, we're even.”

Taking in a breath and readjusting in his seat, John continued; “So, you graduated last year. Do you have plans to go to uni?”

“My brother registered me to start in the spring.” he muttered, tone unhappy.

“You have a brother?” “Yes. He's attending university himself.”

“How come, um-...how come' he's not here? With your mum being sick and all.”

The boy gave a shrug. “His education is more important.”

“What about your dad? Is he okay with you spending all your time at hospital?”

“My dad isn't around. He moved to Ireland.”

“So then you're basically...alone? Besides your mum that is.”

“And?”

“What about friends?”

“I don't have friends.”

John's teeth clipped his lower lip. “Girlfriend, then?”

“Not my area.” he was looking out the window.

“Boyfriend?” John's heart picked up, nervous. There was this sickening desperation in the pit of his stomach and he hated it.

The boy's gaze flicked back to John, glancing over him thoroughly. “Not recently.”

A heady rush of relief overwhelmed the doctor, his skin feeling warm and prickly. “How long ago was that then?”

“Several months ago.”

“And what happened?” John questioned.

“It got boring. Also, they cheated on me.”

John's face fell into a bemused expression, his disbelief showing. “Who in their right mind would cheat on someone like you?”

Their orders arrived then and silence overtook the table for a few moments before the boy spoke, “What does that mean?”

John flicked his eyes up from his delicious looking coffee. “Eh, I just mean...” he took in a deep breath, wondering how he'd express his thoughts without coming off as...well. “You're incredibly intelligent, interesting, and well, if I may be blunt here, you're fucking _gorgeous_ , so.” he licked his lips, avoiding eye contact as he sipped his coffee.

“No one has ever called me that before.”

John glanced up, finding melancholy-blue eyes looking at him from underneath soft lashes. His chest constricted a bit with fondness. “That's very hard to believe.” he breathed, stomach twisting around itself like a tornado.

“And you,” the teenager started, dipping a finger into the abundance of foam atop his coffee and licking it off. “-aren't in a relationship, either.”

“How d'you know that?” John bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the way the figure across from him was licking frothy foam from the tips of fingers as pale as the cream dripping from them. It was a youthful thing to do and it made John want to smile.

“Because you give me looks like...that.” he gestured at the doctor, then finally took an actual sip of his drink.

John started, trying to hide whatever his face was giving away. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down. “And what kind of look is _that_?” he ventured, unsure if he wanted the answer. He had a fair guess as to what it was.

“I'm not sure. But it's...I've seen people get that expression when they're marveling at the stars or a painting they find beautiful. It's like that.”

“Mm,” John hummed, sipping his coffee and relishing the warmth. “You're a bit like both.”

The teenager's brow pulled together quizzically in an endearing manner. “How so?”

“You're bright and distant. And you're attractive in a very artful way.” John picked up a piece of crisp bread, taking a bite of egg and tomato with it. He washed it down with a swallow of coffee.

“You're rather poetic for a surgeon.” the boy murmured, watching his cup. John noticed the usual pale parlor of the young man's cheeks hinted at pink beneath the surface.

The doctor cleared his throat quietly, his own skin feeling warm. “When was the last time you ate something decent?” he steered the conversation in a different direction, less... _poetic_ , per se.

“What's today?”

“Thursday.”

“Three days, then.”

“Three days?” John balked.“You should get something.” The teenager was already shaking his head. “Seriously, you need to eat.” he urged on.

“I'm fine. I can get something from the vending machines later.”

John glanced down at his plate, then grabbed a napkin, picking up the piece of toast that he hadn't started on and plopping it down on the paper before sliding it across the table.“Eat.” he said firmly, and feeling a bit warm, he slipped off his jacket, setting it on the back of the chair. His green cargo shirt was left over from his military wardrobe, short-sleeved and lightweight. He was still in the shape he'd been while servicing, despite not doing as vigorous workouts anymore; he fit a run in when possible, and he normally did a set of exercises on the floor after he woke up if he had the time. John glanced up to see if he had gotten through to the teenager to eat, but instead he found sterling eyes trained on something on John's chest. Looking down, he realized that the boy was staring at the set of dog tags that had slipped loose.

Shifting, the doctor tucked them back into his shirt, out of sight, and the pale blue gaze flicked up to John's wary expression. He tried to convey through a glance that it wasn't a subject he wanted to implore and yet the boy opened his mouth, clearly either not getting it or not caring;

“You were in the military.”

John thought it was the latter. He nodded, eyes elsewhere as he forced himself to resume eating.

“Army doctor.”

Picking up his coffee, John muttered around the rim. “Yeah,”

His company seemed to catch onto the weak spot, eyes narrowing slightly. “Honorable discharge?”

John flicked a dull glance up at him, eyes dark and somber. “Yes.” his tone was clipped.

Yet the dark-haired teenager dug deeper, all of John's subtle warnings saying _don't ask_ flippantly ignored, his eyes like a starry-seaside under the light. “Injured?”

The doctor's hand was trembling ever so slightly, and he curled his fingers into a fist, losing his appetite. He rubbed the back of his neck, nails digging lightly into the skin of his neck in suppressed agitation and anxiety. “I should be getting back. It's been about fifteen.” John glanced at his watch, affirming his statement.

“It's been thirteen minutes. Where were you injured?”

John stood up from the table, leaving the not even half-finished meal behind. He grabbed his coat, shoving his arms into the sleeves. “More than one place.”

The boy made a move to get up as well and John held out a hand, stopping his movement. He looked down at oceanic eyes. “No, stay. Eat.”

“I've upset you by asking about your past.”

“I'll talk to you later.” John assured, knowing he would run into him again at some point tonight. Parting from the table, he left the shop and stepped out into light rain, head ducked down as he briskly strode down the dim, city-lit street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, John is twenty-seven in this fic~

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to publish when it was all wrapped up, but then I started re-writing it, and I decided to go ahead and post it up as my chapters are finished because I'm excited about it - it being my favorite fic I've written.


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